Six Minutes To Midnight. Elle James
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pushed to a sitting position and reached for his boots. Once he had his feet in them, he slid off the table to stand on the floor. He swayed slightly.
The medic was there, helping him stay upright. “Hey, you’re going to rip a stitch if you’re not careful.”
“I want to see Specialist Anderson.”
“They’re taking care of her now.” The young medic, who couldn’t be more than nineteen years old, released his arm. “I’ll go check on her and let you know how it’s going.” He helped him out of the room and nodded toward the front of the building. “In the meantime, you can take a seat in the lobby. I’ll bring your gear.”
Gritting his teeth, T-Mac turned away as another gurney entered the building with Big Jake on it.
His face was pale, but his eyes were open. He grabbed T-Mac’s arm as he passed. “How’s the dog soldier?”
“They’re working on her now.” T-Mac scanned his friend. “Where were you hit?”
“Took a bullet in the buttocks.” Big Jake laughed and grimaced. “Only hurts when I laugh, or move, or hell, anything. I’ll be glad when they get it out.”
T-Mac stood back, his gaze going to the medics pushing the gurney. “Take care of my friend.”
“We’ve got this. You might want to take a seat while you’re waiting,” the medic who’d helped him said. “You lost a little bit of blood yourself.”
T-Mac made his way to the lobby. The window looking out was still dark.
As promised, the medic delivered his gear, setting it on the floor beside a chair.
Wearing his torn pants, the air-conditioned air cool on his exposed leg, T-Mac paced the short distance between chairs. He prayed the female dog handler and Big Jake would be all right. Part of him wanted to be back in the bombed-out village, wreaking havoc on those who’d hurt his team.
Seeing Anderson blown back out of the building by the power of a point-blank attack made his gut clench. He’d tried to grab her arm before she went in, but she’d been too fast, worried about her dog. He should have known she’d do something like that and thought ahead. She was his responsibility. Even if the commander hadn’t tagged him with the job, he would have taken it anyway.
As he stared at his body armor and helmet, he wondered if the rest of his team was still fighting or if they’d brought the little village under control.
The whole mission had felt as if it had been a fiasco from the very beginning...as if they had been led into the chute like lambs to slaughter.
Unfortunately, Specialist Anderson had been first up. She’d taken a bullet to her armor-plated chest. Thankfully, she’d worn her protective gear, or she’d be dead. As it was, the mortar having landed near them had taken its toll. If she didn’t die of a punctured or collapsed lung from the blunt force of being fired on at close range, she might die from the multiple shrapnel wounds across her arms and legs. Or suffer from traumatic brain injury.
He didn’t feel the stitches pinching since the doctor had given him a local anesthetic, but he felt ridiculous in his one-legged pants.
All the while he sat in the lobby, his teammates could be facing the fight of their lives, and he wasn’t there to help.
An hour passed, and the medic came out. “Your friend, Petty Officer Schuler, is going to be okay. He should be out shortly.”
Minutes later, Big Jake limped out into the lobby, wearing what T-Mac assumed were borrowed gym shorts and his T-shirt.
A medic carried his body armor and helmet, as well as his shirt and the remainder of his pants. “I can help you get back to your quarters when the shift changes in an hour,” he promised. He glanced over his shoulder. “I have to get back in there.”
“Wait.” T-Mac took a step forward. “What’s the status of Specialist Anderson?”
The medic shook his head. “They removed all the shrapnel, but she’s still unconscious. They were waiting to see if she’d come out of it on her own, but she got kind of combative, so they sedated her. The doctor thinks she might have a concussion. We’ve called for transport to get her to the next level of care. They’ll either take her to Ramstein in Germany or back to the States.”
T-Mac’s chest tightened. “How soon?”
“As soon as we can scramble a crew and medical staff to fly out on a C-130.” The medic turned. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back.” He disappeared before T-Mac could ask any more questions.
Big Jake laid a hand on T-Mac’s shoulder. “I’m sorry about your dog handler.”
For every time T-Mac had corrected his teammates, he knew he’d been lying to himself. He didn’t know Kinsley Anderson well, nor did he have any ties to her, other than having been assigned to protect her. Still, he had felt she was his dog handler and that he was responsible for seeing to her safety.
The door to the medical facility burst open behind T-Mac and Big Jake. Buck, Harm, Diesel and Pitbull pushed through, covered in dust and smelling of gunpowder.
“Thank God you’re both okay.” Buck clapped a hand to T-Mac’s back.
“We didn’t know what had happened to you when you took off,” Pitbull said.
Diesel nodded toward their pant legs and grinned. “New fashion statement in uniform trousers?” Then his smile faded. “You’re okay?”
Big Jake snorted. “Other than a stitch here and there, we’ll survive.”
“What about T-Mac’s dog handler?” Harm asked.
T-Mac’s jaw tightened. “They’re going to ship her out to the next level of medical support.” He turned to Harm. “What about Agar? What happened to the dog?” T-Mac knew the first thing Kinsley would want to know was if her dog made it out alive.
Harm shook his head. “We got him onto the helicopter and carried him to the camp veterinarian. I can’t tell you whether he’ll make it. He was nonresponsive when we delivered him, but I think he still had a heartbeat.”
When Kinsley recovered enough to ask, she’d receive yet another blow if the dog didn’t make it. T-Mac wanted to know more about Agar’s condition, but he wasn’t leaving the medical facility until the army specialist did.
“You might as well get some rest,” Big Jake said. “You can’t do anything for her now.”
“I know. But I’m staying,” he said.
Big Jake nodded. “You know it wasn’t your fault she was hurt.”
T-Mac’s fists knotted, but he didn’t say anything.
Big Jake touched his arm. “You couldn’t have known the dog would dart into that building, or that someone was there waiting to shoot her.”
“That’s right,” Buck stated. “She’s lucky she had on her body armor, or she wouldn’t be alive—”
Pitbull elbowed Buck in the ribs. “She’s going to be okay. The docs will take good care of her. And when they get her to a real hospital, they’ll make sure she gets even better care.”
T-Mac knew all that, but he wouldn’t feel better about any of it until he saw the dog handler standing in front of him, giving him attitude.
“If you two are up to it, the CO wants a debrief,” Harm said. “He’s out for blood. The way we see it, we were set up, plain and simple.”
“Did you find the guy who shot Specialist Anderson?” T-Mac asked.
Harm’s lips thinned. “We thought we’d find pieces of him after the explosion, but he got away. There was a back door to that hut.”
Anger seared through T-Mac’s veins. “He